A' la Fin
by Just Mosie
Summary: This was the night that will forever continue to haunt them until the day the were to die.One that would scar them for all eternity. My entry for the January 2010 Challenge 'New Beginnings' at the Jello Forever Boards.


**A' la fin**

**DISCLAIMER: no.**

**This is my entry for the New Beginnings challenge over at the Jello Forever boards. I hope everyone enjoys.**

Crimson blood flowed out of the knife wound, trailing down the blade to the hilt. The warm liquid hit his hand and slithered across his knuckles, coating his fingers. The blood stained his shirt, pushing itself through the fabric and imprinting itself into his flesh.

His chest heaved, furious, enraged, as he watched the body before him lose its life. The life moved out of the eyes, they fell slightly, but not closing. The mouth went from an eerie grin to a half-open frown. The last sound of air moving through its nose as the killer moved his hand off the knife, letting the lifeless body fall to the ground.

The man in the three-piece suit reached down and jerked the knife out of the killer's stomach. The last amounts of blood oozed out, continuing to stain the floor around him.

The man looked around him, clutching onto the knife, blood dripping on the floor and the sudden sound of the wind rustling outside, pushing the bushes to brush against the window.

Shame, guilt.

He killed someone's child, someone's baby.

Somewhere this man was stitched together in a woman's womb, somewhere he was born in a hospital and reared by someone of a gentle nature. The father had killed the mother, her major internal organs ripped from her body. The child abused by his father, making him recoil into his room and speak to no one.

Somewhere he had asked the woman of his dreams if she would like to go to the nearest carnival. She stood him up and decided to reject his every attempt to woo her. He snapped, killing her. The feeling of the blood deliciously licking over his exposed skin made him feel alive, instead of the constant feeling of death.

After that, it had become and addiction.

Spotting a target and torturing her, making her beg, making her apologize for every little thing she had done wrong in her life. Then he would kill them. Slow and nasty.

He then grew older and wiser, more careful, deciding on a special style, a smiley face to be painted on the wall. It would cause immediate dread and would stain the vision of any person who would come across it. It would send police into a fury, searching for him. Oh the great adrenaline rush and pleasure it would give the sadistic killer, Red John.

Especially for killing the wife and child of a celebrity.

But it was all over now.

Patrick Jane's life was over, he would rot away in jail, walk aimlessly through the corridors in the orange jumpsuit. Forever behind the bars, caging him into the small 4x12 cell. He would continue to toss and turn in his sleep, as the chronic insomnia would still plague him. The harsh images of blood seeping from every wound would invade his mind as the sounds of every knife wound ripping through the fabric of Red John's shirt.

He shut his eyes, dropping the knife to the ground. The blood pounded in his ears as he stumbled backwards, feet nearly tangling together. He caught himself on the wall, palm and fingers smearing the rustic colour. He turned, back now connecting with the barrier as he forced himself to succumb to his fatigue and fall to the ground.

A simple creak did not awaken his senses as a petite woman made her way down the wooden stairs into the now blood-riddled basement. The flashlight she clutched shook in her hand as she observed the blood-painted room. Her mouth open slightly, wanting to gasp…needing to gasp.

She knew how it all ended.

Her eyes met the figure on the ground, blood covering his front and hands. Little flecks of blood dotting his face. Her entire heart stopped as the flashlight fell through her fingers. It hit the ground, clattering as the plastic broke and rolled around her feet.

"J-jane?" her voice was soft, weary. It made his heartstrings tug, "W-what have you done?" he shut his eyes tighter, it did not take much to know that her eyes were watering…crying…as her emotions began to take over her actions.

He opened his eyes; it was hesitant as he saw the broken woman in front of him. She looked lost, afraid. Hurt.

The moonlight streaming through the window, dust particles fluttering about as if nothing were happening. The light hit her face, reflecting off her crystal tears.

He shut his eyes again; he felt her moving closer to him. He felt her clothing flex with her body as she kneeled down before him. He opened his eyes, blinking and focusing solely on her face. Her entire body glowed, an eerie effect from the moonlight. The soft curls barely moving as she faced downwards. He breathed in and cupped her cheek, blood smearing on her chin as he titled it forward and cupped her cheek.

His lips touched hers, softly first. Her hand moved into his hair, twirling a curl around her index finger. He stood up on his knees, taller than her as he wrapped a bloodied hand around her waist, pulling her body closer to him. The hand on her cheek moved, brushing her hair back behind her shoulder and resting on the side of her neck.

Her teeth caught on his bottom lip, tears flowing from both their eyes as their kiss deepened into a source of raw passion. Her hand rested on his belly, slowly moving up to his chest and splaying across the fabric of his vest.

He broke the kiss, she breathed in, and her eyes shut. He rested his forehead against her, "I love you," her heart completely stopped.

The entire world did.

He pressed a long, lingering kiss against her lips. He drew it out, wanting this very moment to last. She broke it off, staring into his pained eyes. They were both equally broken. Both equally scarred.

She placed both hands against his chest and pushed him back against the wall. He let go of her neck to move his hand quickly behind her to catch himself. She stood up, surveying the dead body beside her. She chewed on her bottom lip as he brought himself up, hand resting on the wall behind him.

She reached behind and pulled out her handcuffs, she clasped his bloodied hand in hers and attached the handcuffs around each wrist. His eyes shut, not wanting to have a permanent memory of his lover placing handcuffs around him. He heard her breathe, the sound of the air moving around in her lungs.

"Let's go," she tugged on his arm, pulling him towards the stairs.

The moonlight was their only lighting.

He looked down at his restraints, his heart breaking as they moved up the stairs, every creak stopping his heart. Making him guiltier and guiltier. Making her body feel the oncoming dread of Jane's future trial.

In synch they moved out of the old house, the floorboards beneath them beckoning them to come back. The old furniture covered by white cloth and old shower curtains. The door was pushed open and she placed him to stand by the car.

The blood on her face and neck penetrated his gaze, imprinting into his mind as the moonlight once more illuminated her features. He watched her reach into her jacket pocket and pull out a matchbox. She walked carefully towards the house, feet falling after each other in perfect harmony.

She struck the box once, nothing happened. Again, and it continued to fail. The third time she struck it, the fire awoke. She threw the box down, cupping her hand around the flame and moving closer. She threw the fire into the dried bush and stepped away. She moved back, picking up the cardboard matchbox and pulling herself back towards the blood-covered blond man. She turned and watched as part of the old railing of the old farmhouse caught fire. It spread, wildly as the flames licked over the old, rotting wood. The contents of the house would never be known of as she looked over at Jane. He stared at the house, the fire making his entire body glow orange.

His eyes, questioning.

She moved behind the Chevrolet Traverse and opened the back. She pulled out a rag and a water bottle. Lisbon walked over to Jane, "Cup your hands together," her voice was soft. He did so as she poured the water into his hands. He brushed them together, ridding them off all the blood. She herself wiped the excess water and then reached up and rubbed the blood off his face.

He did the same for her.

Slowly, almost passionately he ridded her face and neck of Red John's blood. Her body remained stiff as her lids became heavy and shut. Almost afraid that if she were to open them, he would be gone.

Lisbon moved away from him, towards the back of the SUV. She pulled out a fresh three-piece suit and a new pair of brown boots and walked around, placing it on the hood of the car. He nodded slowly before stripping out of his clothes. He changed silently, pulling on the clean clothes. She took the bloodied clothes from his hands and walked to the flames. She threw them, into the fire, watching the fire consume at them quickly.

She slipped her jacket off her shoulder, balling it up and throwing it into the fire. She turned sharply, her hair falling into her face as she moved behind the car to change herself. Jane's eyes followed her the entire time. She had repeated the action, the same one she did to rid of his clothes.

Lisbon then picked up the matchbox again. Jane watched her head towards his beloved cerulean blue Citroën. Striking it only once this time, it came to life. She pushed the stick into the cracked open window and watched as the entire car came aflame.

Both their heads jerked to the side at the sound of the house's moaning and groaning before it parts of it began to fall completely apart. Smoke was becoming evident in the darkening skies.

"Let's go," she said again, reaching behind him and pulling the key off the hood of the SUV and unlocking his restraints. He watched her move around the car. She opened her door and slid inside. He did the same on the other side.

The entire drive he looked out the window, watching the farmland pass them by. She was out of character the first few miles; she drove quickly, in a vain attempt to get out of the area. That was when he watched her. When she began to cruise at a lower speed, he felt some of the tension evaporate.

Soon sirens were heard as the fire fighters scrambled to find the source of thick black smoke. He shut his eyes and breathed deeply.

_In and out_

"I did this because I love you," he froze and looked at her body, tears continued to stream down her cheeks, "I couldn't let you go away for murder," it was a naïve wish that she knew she could make come true, "Especially for another murderer."

He continued to watch her, the low vibration of the car and the tires moving across the gravel road hitting asphalt, her sniffling, and his heart were the only thing he was hearing.

He leaned back into his seat, gazing ahead. Today was the mark of a new beginning. He would love her until the day they both died. He would protect her until the very end of time and go to hell and back with her. His love for her was undying and it would never fail. He shut his eyes and let the car engine lull him into sleep.

Seven months later, they would be married in a small ceremony. About a year later, they would have a son. A year and six months after the birth of their son, Daniel Jane, they would have a daughter, Rachel Jane.

Life seemed perfect, yet both he and his wife were filled with nightmares eating away at their spirits. They would comfort each other; remain in each other's arms, as they would cry out their pain. They were the only ones who knew of what had happened to Red John.

And that is how it is meant to be.

**Would love to hear what everyone thought about this, my first time doing an angst driven oneshot.**


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